Chapter 1

I'd barely stepped off the plane when Nellie Dotson, Lambert's sister-in-law, tagged me in the group chat.

"Curt Dickerson, you have repeatedly violated attendance policy, with a serious negative impact."

"Effective tomorrow, you are transferred to logistics. Your salary is reduced to five thousand, and all commission and year-end bonuses are canceled."

All because I'd missed clocking in three times this month.

A fifty-thousand salary shrunk to a tenth of that, and over a hundred thousand in commission and year-end pay wiped straight to zero.

I didn't argue. I didn't make a scene.

I just replied, Received.

Then I sent another message:

"Mr. Mason, you mentioned before that you were short a sales director. Are you still hiring?"

The reply came instantly:

"You're welcome to join us anytime!"

1

I took the walk back to the office a little slower than usual.

The elevator doors opened on the seventeenth floor, and the moment Rosalind James at the front desk looked up and saw me, the corner of her mouth twitched.

No warm greeting like usual. She just dropped her eyes back to her screen.

I walked into the sales department floor and headed straight for my desk.

Along the way, past a few rows of cubicles, the clatter of keyboards had gone quiet at some point.

"Well, if it isn't the pillar of our sales department."

The snide voice came from the third cubicle on my left.

Claude Finch was leaned back in his chair, hands laced behind his head, feet propped and swinging at the edge of his desk.

Last quarter a big deal of his had nearly fallen through, and I was the one who gave up three straight weekends to keep his client on board.

Now he tilted his head and looked at me.

The expression on his face was like he was admiring some curiosity.

"So how's it going, Curt? Logistics doesn't have to meet clients anymore, right?"

"You'll finally get to clock out on time from now on. I'm jealous."

Next to him, Luke Lawrence laughed along.

Last month his mother was in the hospital, twenty thousand short on the surgery.

I transferred it without a word, and that payment record is still sitting in my phone, undeleted.

When Luke finished laughing he leaned in and lowered his voice. "Curt, I heard logistics doesn't even have air conditioning."

"Delicate guy like you, want me to order you a little fan online?"

I said nothing and kept walking.

My desk was at the far end of the row by the window, next to Harrison James.

He'd joined the company the same year I did, with parents to support and kids to raise, plus a mortgage and a car loan.

Four years ago he'd made a mistake and nearly got fired.

It was me pounding the table in that meeting, swearing for him, that barely saved his job.

Back then he'd gripped my hand, sobbing. "You're my brother for life!"

Now he lifted his head, his tone flat. "Curt, I hear logistics is under old Zach. That guy's got a bit of a temper, so go easy with him."

He paused, then added one more thing.

"But it's good you're going, really. Saves you running around out there every day. Your family's always worried about you."

It sounded like concern.

But the way his voice tipped up at the end carried something I couldn't quite name.

Claude fired another shot from behind. "Harrison, why're you fussing? A big shot like Curt can shine and pull his weight anywhere, right?"

A few people around them laughed.

That laugh wasn't because anything was actually funny. It was a kind of confirmation.

Confirmation that they hadn't backed the wrong side.

I didn't say anything. I sat down quietly and squared the folders on my desk into a neat stack.

This desk had been mine for seven years. There was a sticky note on the corner with a phone number on it.

The private line of that big client up north, one I'd worked two months to get.

The paper had long since dried out, the writing gone yellow.

I peeled it off and dropped it in the trash.

When I got to the third drawer, my hand hit a few group photos pressed underneath.

The first was from the company party five years ago, me up on stage holding the Top Salesperson trophy.

Lambert had pinned the big red flower on me himself, more than a hundred people seated below, clapping in unison.

The second was from last summer, the company's celebration dinner.

We'd blown past our first-half targets, and the sales department landed an extra bonus.

I'd talked Lambert into it and fought to get every person on the team the biggest possible share.

My fingers paused at the edge of the photo, then I flipped it over and set it back in the drawer.

Thinking back over these years, the clients I'd brought in, if not a hundred then at least eighty.

More than once a competitor had offered double the base salary to poach me, and I'd turned it down without a second thought.

Not out of some great loyalty. I just felt the company had given me a platform, and I'd built myself up from nothing here.

Everyone lifting each other up. That was a good thing.

Never in a hundred years did I think it would end like this, over something as small as missed clock-ins.

Kicked straight out of the sales department.

My phone buzzed. A message from Howard Mason popped up. "Curt, when can you start? Your office is all set up for you."

I replied that I'd be there soon, then tucked the phone in my pocket.

At half past eleven, the lunch bell rang.

I got up like always and headed out, down the hallway and around two corners.

When I reached the cafeteria doors, the head of security put out a hand and stopped me.

"Curt, sorry, logistics staff aren't allowed in."